Lycans and Vampyres are Gits, Oh My!
by johnsarmylady
Summary: At a dark and foggy crime scene Sherlock and John, Scotland Yards strangest consultants, are called in to assist with a particularly nasty double murder. As usual, Anderson and Donovan can't keep their mouths shut, but tonight at least one consultant extracts revenge! First in The LYCANS AND VAMPYRES series.


**This was originally intended as a one off warm up for Halloween, but when MapleleafCameo checked it over for me (for which I thank her!) she asked for more. I admit I enjoyed writing these, so let me introduce you to the first in the Lycans And Vampyres series...**

**Disclaimer: As ever, I don't own or profit**

**xXx**

Fog hung over the crime scene as if to add to the dread atmosphere.

"Surely you haven't called the Freak in…" It was more statement than question, yet Sally Donovan's thoughts on the subject could be read clear on her face.

"I have no choice," her superior officer muttered.

Greg Lestrade had thought long and hard about involving Sherlock Holmes and his ever-present friend John Watson, but the public would panic when the full details of this got out, and he needed to get this solved and the perpetrator locked away.

Calling a vampyre and a lycanthrope to a crime scene that dripped blood and gore was a risk – all of his team regarded the duo with a degree of fear, and most of his team had a healthy respect for the creatures that they were – most. Not so Sally Donovan or Philip Anderson.

Donovan and Anderson pushed their luck where the boys from Baker Street were concerned. It really wasn't sensible to bait them or call them names, and certainly they should have learned by now that sneering at their abilities was just asking for trouble.

And Anderson was currently telling anyone who was within earshot _exactly_ what he thought of bloodsucking shape-shifters, his voice loud and strange in the muffling, all enveloping fog.

"Really Anderson, you would think after five years even you would be able to tell the difference between a bloodsucker – that being me – and a shape-shifter – as John is." He smiled, a cold smile that was all sharp incisors and no humour, his long thin fingers indicating a solid bodied wolf standing four square at his side, a low growl emanating from its throat.

"Jesus, Sherlock," Lestrade strode across to him. "I wish you wouldn't sneak up on people like that!"

"We didn't." Unearthly silver eyes turned to look at the older man, an edge of haughty disdain in their cold depths. "We snuck up on Anderson."

The wolf settled on his haunches, his jaws slack and his tongue lolling.

"It's unkind of you to laugh, John." Sherlock commented as he swept forward, sure in the knowledge that Anderson would be smarting at the barbs, and that Lestrade would do nothing about it – they needed him.

In silence the police and scene of crime officers stepped back to allow the two 'consultants' through.

"There are at least two bodies." Greg said as he moved to stand next to tall consultant. "We really know little more than that."

"Information that I managed to glean with one look around the scene." Sherlock crouched down and dipped his finger in the blood pool nearest him and sniffed it. "Female."

"Don't pretend you can…." Donovan started to say but her voice faltered as the vampyre turned his head and looked into her eyes at the very moment his tongue flashed out and licked the blood from the end of his digit.

"Oh, gross!" Anderson exclaimed, while Sally backed away looking rather green.

"Shut up Anderson" Lestrade snapped. "And Sally get yourself over to the cordon, if you're going to be sick I want you away from the evidence." He glanced at the fog-enfolded shadows at the police tape and added "See if you can persuade the gore-fest tourists to move on."

Sally stalked away, her voice muffled as she declared 'Nothing to see here, best if you move along' to the several dozen people that had gathered on the edge of the crime scene, none of whom moved.

Turning back to Sherlock, Greg gave him a hard stare.

"Do you have to do that so openly?"

"It gives me a benchmark to work from, and anyway…" he licked his pale bloodless lips. "… the public couldn't see me."

He glanced down at John who was delicately sniffing at the pool Sherlock had sampled.

"You have that John?"

The wolf's response was a cross between a huff and a bark. Sherlock nodded and moved around to the other side of the sprawling mass of gore and repeated the process.

"Also female." He noted, once more the tongue flashed out. "Not the same, so not familial – possibly a friend or colleague, maybe a lover or wife."

And once again the wolf sniffed and in his own way acknowledged the scent.

Looking around, Sherlock took in every feature of the area. It was an open space – a disused children's playground, surrounded by badly maintained grassland and shrubbery. The nearest houses were a good hundred yards away.

"Whoever did this was sure of himself, open space in the middle of a residential area, the murder weapon – that iron bar there – just thrown down when he'd finished with it. He's confident you won't find anything to link him…"

"You're certain it's a man?"

Sherlock nodded.

"The method is not beyond another woman, but the physical strength required to pulp not just one but two skulls, that speaks of a man with a grudge, or a weakness…."

"Weakness?"

"Can't get a girlfriend?" Well-defined eyebrows rose and silver eyes glowed with unholy glee. "Or can't perform when he does?"

With a look of sick distaste on his face Greg swore profusely, but mostly under his breath.

A soft 'wuff' from a nearby bush caught their attention, but before either of them could move Anderson called across from where he sat in his forensics vehicle.

"What? Does he have to tell you when he's done his business so you can clean it up?"

"Anderson…" It was warning and order in one, as Lestrade placed a hand on Sherlock's arm to prevent the pale man retaliating.

It was a mark of the respect that the vampyre had for the Detective Inspector that he allowed the touch, and the restraint, and as he turned away to join his flatmate he knew that Lestrade would be dealing with his insubordinate subordinate.

"John?"

The wolf pushed a little way into the bushes and pawed at the ground, his throaty yet soft growls telling Sherlock all he needed to know.

Buried under a thin layer of earth was a pair of high-grade coveralls, the type worn in infection control units. They were blood-soaked, the smudged and dirty spatter pattern in keeping with the vicious attack.

Speaking first to the Lycan at his side Sherlock stood and beckoned Lestrade, showing him the clothing.

"Fuck! That means he was totally protected, we won't find any tell-tale blood on him?"

"Relax Lestrade, you're sending your blood pressure up so high I can hear your heart-beat from here." Sherlock's lips twitched, but whether in a swiftly hidden smile or something more sinister Greg couldn't say.

To an observer, Sherlock looked as if he was discussing nothing more horrific than the weather as he stood looking towards the now distant mess of bodies.

"Our murderer is local, and probably overconfident." He said softly. "He might have buried the clothes but his scent will be on them."

"Will John?..."

"Already on it. No," Sherlock prevented Lestrade from moving just by stepping a little closer. "Don't look for him – if my theory is correct then the man that done this is more stupid than most, and will still be in the area." He nodded significantly towards the eerily fog-shrouded crowd still standing at the cordon.

A deep growl split the air, echoing menacingly, emanating from the crowd line.

There was a shout, and a flurry of action. A man broke free from the crowd and ran John bounded after him.

From the other side of the crime scene there was a shush of cloth and a blur of movement, and the vampyre joined the hunt, his unearthly speed landing him in the murderer's path.

He didn't stand a chance – he couldn't go forward, and with the wolf behind him he couldn't go back.

Yelling orders to his officers, Lestrade joined the fray, ploughing through the bewildered onlookers and grabbing the perpetrator.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't let these two feed on you." He whispered menacingly into the perpetrator's ear.

"You…you wouldn't." A quavering high-pitched voice whined.

Sherlock stepped forward and hissed, his lips drawn back, his sharp teeth gleaming, and his eyes blazing.

"Alright!" the man shouted, terrified. "I'll confess….I'll tell you everything."

Dragging him through the now angry crowd, the officers threw the quaking man into a waiting police car.

"Okay Anderson, your team can get to work." Lestrade called over to the waiting man.

"You won't need me now Lestrade, I assume Sally is at least competent enough to get him back into custody?" Sherlock sneered at the Detective Sergeant as she drove past with the prisoner.

"Enough Sherlock." Lestrade looked around. "Where's John?"

On cue John came trotting over from where he had been wandering around the police vehicles with a distinctly pleased look on his face.

The vampire smiled at him.

"Come John, we're done here."

Side by side the Baker Street boys walked away, their figures swallowed up by the swirling fog.

Greg Lestrade watched them go, wondering – not for the first time – what he would do without their very special help.

Drawing in a deep breath he gazed around, just as Anderson gave a disgusted shout.

The forensics lead leapt back out of his vehicle, pulling at the seat of his blue overalls.

"That….that….that fucking dog! He pissed on my seat!"

Choking back a laugh, Lestrade looked back once more in the direction Sherlock and John had disappeared.

"You bloody pair of gits!"


End file.
